


Inevitable

by Espereth



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 16:18:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Espereth/pseuds/Espereth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the KinkMeme prompt: "Ezio is betrayed and the Tiber Island hideout is stormed by Borgia troops. Ezio and a number of Assassins are captured on the spot. In order to humiliate both Ezio and his underlings Cesare rapes him and makes the rest watch. Bonus points if Claudia's present too."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Assassin's Creed KinkMeme at http://asscreedkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1611.html?thread=8426059#cmt8426059

It was late. Ezio rubbed his brow as he pored over a set of documents freshly delivered by Ciro Cavallari, the young man who stood before his desk. 

All of a sudden Ciro looked up, staring like a hound.

"What is it, my friend?" Ezio asked him, but the young man looked at the heavy doors at the entrance to the Tiber Island hideout.

"That noise. Something is wrong," said Ciro. 

Ezio had heard nothing. But Ciro's hearing was sharper than his own, long since dulled by the pounding of canon and the shattering of brickwork. 

"Then fetch your Brothers," Ezio told him. "Quietly."

Ciro fled in silence. Then, Ezio heard it. A key at the door. A low murmur outside. The tread of unfamiliar footsteps - and Fabio Orsini walked slowly and deliberately to his desk. Ezio stood up.

"What brings you here, my friend?" 

The youngest Orsini brother had done much to help the Assassini - and betrayed his own family to do so. Tiber Island belonged to Ezio because of Fabio. He had never asked anything in return. Perhaps now was the time. Whatever it was, Ezio was sure he would agree - he owed the young condottiero so much.

"I'm sorry," said Fabio Orsini, and Ezio noticed how his youthful face seemed haggard, drained of life.

"What for?" Ezio felt tension build in his gut. "What have you done?"

"I told Cesare where to find you," he said. There was no expression in his voice, or his dulled eyes. 

Ezio stood, calm and cold, though dread crept through his body and made his ears ring.

"He was going to kill my wife." Not an excuse, but a simple statement delivered in a lifeless tone. 

"How long?" Somehow, Ezio felt no anger as he looked into Fabio Orsini's empty eyes. "How long do we have?"

Clattering on the flagstones in the street, as Templar forces amassed at the doors of the Tiber Island stronghold.

Fabio Orsini offered no resistance when Ezio reached for him across his desk. His eyes were already dead, even before Ezio flicked out his blade and buried it in the base of Fabio's throat. Hot blood spurted over Ezio's hand and across his face. Ezio dropped the body and vaulted over his desk, his hidden blade still dripping with blood.

Ciro came back, leading every Assassin within range - some, white cloaked figures with swords and axes drawn; others tousle-haired, roused from sleep in breeches and bare feet, daggers in their hands. All his men came running, and the women too. 

Borgia troops stormed the room. Ezio and his apprentices fought, each one did his best, cold methodical skill combined with the staunchest courage. Soldier after liveried soldier dropped to the stone floor, dead or dying. But as the Papal guard followed the first wave of men, Ezio's Assassini began to fall among them. Marco, Luciana, Alessandro. Rocco and Luca. Dead within seconds. A perfect raid. 

Soon those who were not slain were subdued - disarmed and overwhelmed. Ezio cursed himself. Why had he never kept a full complement of fighters at Tiber Island? He had never spared the resources. At least it meant many of his men were in the field, and spared this slaughter. Ezio prayed they would have the sense to stay away, to regroup in Firenze or Venezia. If they tried to retake Tiber Island they would be doomed to a man. 

Then as Ezio crouched ready to fight, surrounded, a silence descended. Silent until the curses and struggles of a woman's familiar voice.

Claudia. 

Why had she come here? Of all nights, why tonight? 

A man's sneering laugh accompanied Claudia's curses and the sounds of struggle - and Cesare Borgia emerged with Ezio's sister pinioned in his gauntleted hands. Blood streamed down his nose and from a gash down the side of his face, but the injuries Claudia had delivered did nothing to comfort Ezio's dread.

"So, Ezio," Cesare said, seizing Claudia by her hair and shaking her, "Under my nose this past year." He leered down the front of Claudia's dishevelled dress, laughing, and Ezio froze inside. "Do you surrender?"

"Don't do it, fratello," Claudia pleaded. "I don't care what they do to me, I swear it. You know they will do whatever they want, anyway, no matter what you do. Let us all fight and die here with honor."

He knew she was right. And Claudia deserved an Assassin's death - in battle, like their Brothers whose blood stained he warehouse flags. But Claudia was not just an Assassin. She was his sister. If he could keep her alive, he had to try.

"We yield," he said. He dropped his sword, held up his hands.

Claudia stared in disbelief. "Have you lost your mind? I'd kill you myself if I could!" She turned to the remaining Assassini. "Fight, damn you! Are you not men? Are you not Assassins? My chambermaid lies dead upon the floor with a cooking knife in her hand. She had more courage than you!"

But the Brotherhood obeyed Ezio, not his sister. Resentful eyes and accusing stares met him. They, too, knew Claudia was right. But not one of them moved to attack.

"A wise choice," Cesare said to Ezio, black eyes smiling coldly. "I'll spare your sister." He thrust Claudia to Micheletto, who caught and held her easily despite her struggles and curses. Ezio saw tears forming in her eyes.

"Conquest is conquest, after all," said Cesare. "Perhaps one Auditore will serve as well as another. On your knees."

Ezio frowned in confusion. "What -"

"You heard me well enough, Assassino. Kneel for me." He looked at Claudia, then at Micheletto. "A fighter, that one," he said to his henchman. Cesare wiped blood from his nose and cheek, grinning. "Which of us do you think would make her scream the loudest?"

"Leave her," Ezio said, unable to believe what was happening. He knelt. "Do what you want, Cesare." This was his fault. For trusting Fabio Orsini; for staying at Tiber Island. For dispersing his men when he should have treated this place as a stronghold.

"No!" Claudia screamed, and cried out in agony as Micheletto twisted her arm so far up her back she looked ready to faint. 

Ezio's fault. It was only right that he should pay the price. 

Cesare signalled to his men and four of the heavy Papal guard came to seize him by his arms and legs, to tear his shirt from his body. His chest was bared. Cesare drank in the sight with obvious relish, smirking all the while.

"Will you be like Caterina Sforza, I wonder?" Cesare said, dropping his gauntlets to allow himself to work a hand into Ezio's dishevelled hair. Crouching behind Ezio, Cesare twisted his hand to turn Ezio's head, then pressed his lips to his ear. "After a time, in my prison, I believe that puttana actually came to enjoy my visits." He tweaked a nipple, and Ezio felt his body twitch in reaction, fighting for silence. "I wonder if you will, too."

But - Caterina had told her himself. She had been left unspoiled. She had said so! The shock must have registered in his face. 

"She did not tell you about that, did she?" Cesare laughed. "Never mind. I will make it known when I spread word of my victory over you. The whole of Italia will know that I have conquered you. In so many senses of the word."

Forgive me, Caterina, he thought. I didn't know. But inside, he thought, he had always known. She had been Cesare's prisoner for months, and the man lived for conquest. For the humiliation, the complete submission of his opponents. Caterina had fought for Ezio, had led her men as bravely as any general, taken up arms herself. He should have known. Should have given more weight to half-heard muttered rumors than to a proud woman's insistence of her virtue.

Well, it seemed Ezio would pay for it now. Not that it would do Caterina any good... but, at least he could spare his sister this indignity.

He didn't fight as strong hands held him and tore open his breeches to bare his ass. The guards bent him into position. Was this how Caterina had felt? Naked. Defenceless. He knew better than to beg for Cesare to wait - to send his apprentices from the room. They would suffer the abject humiliation of seeing their master stripped, bent over, taken like an altar boy. Already he sensed their confusion and despair. Such a thought had never occurred to any of them. 

Once or twice, Ezio had overheard the girls discussing what they would do if they were captured - how best to take one's own life before the Templar men could rape them. He had shuddered in sympathy at what a captured woman must face in war - but never had he thought he would be the one to face it too.

Cesare behind him now - hands on the back of his neck, squeezing and firm, bending him further forward, his ass higher. Ezio felt his face flush with shame as Cesare stripped off his belt and brought it down across his exposed cheeks with three sound cracks.

Stinging and bruised, his ass on fire - Cesare ran a hand over the weals he had raised, almost gentle, and Ezio shuddered as unbidden, unwilling, his cock stirred to life. 

The guards spread his legs wide, exposing his ass to the cold night; then Cesare took him by his hips and sank inside him.

Slow and deep. Of course Ezio could not see it but his cock felt immense - full, wounding, so thick - as Cesare penetrated him. 

A low groan escaped Ezio's throat. He shut his eyes. Claudia had stopped struggling, and now sobbed quietly in Micheletto's hard grip.

"Oh," Cesare murmured. A kiss behind Ezio's ear made him shudder. "That's it. Just like Caterina, aren't you - this is what you've wanted all along. Like this, don't you?" Soft whispers, firm kisses along his neck, across his shoulders.

Unable to believe himself as he arched back against Cesare's hard belly and thighs, Ezio felt coarse hair on his back, his ass, the backs of his thighs. Cesare savoured it all, voicing his grunts of satisfaction as he thrust, in and out, deep and thorough. The pain was bad enough, splitting him inside, but as Cesare began to move faster inside him, hands tight on his hips - even worse was Ezio's hard cock, now standing upright and ready, betraying him just as Fabio Orsini had done.

"You know I will tell everyone what I've done to you," Cesare said, lips against Ezio's ear once more. "I will tell my generals. My court." His voice dropped to breathless rasps as he thrust, over and over. "Your men, as I capture them. One by one. I'll have word sent. Those wretches, in the farms at Monteriggioni... Everyone will know. And no-one will ever forget."

The low murmur against Ezio's ear, the brush of lips and beard against the side of his neck, the soft press of teeth around his earlobe.

"Oh, you're tight. Never done this before, have you? Leonardo da Vinci never managed to make himself obvious enough for your challenged little mind?... Anyway, you have no idea how good you feel. Micheletto."

"Yes, my Prince."

"Are his men watching us?"

"They're watching, my Prince."

"Not one of them looks away. Understand?"

"Of course, my Prince."

"Good... yes... yes..." 

And slowly, inevitably, despite - or was it because of? - his shocked watching Brothers, the rough hands on his body, spreading him open, holding him down - four men pinning him, one man inside him - Ezio Auditore leaned against the barrel chest of his tormentor, and cried out as, as one, they shuddered to climax.


	2. 2

Severino crouched with his hands fisted on his knees, staring straight ahead at the walls of his cell in the Castel Sant-Angelo. He could not bring himself to look at his cell mates - his Brothers, just inches from him. But he knew that Marcello was slumped in despair, and Annetta had her knees drawn up to her chest, blank-faced, pretending that nothing was happening. Ciro, the youngest, was sniffing back tears again. Severino wanted to shake them all.

While Severino could not see what was happening outside his cell, either, he could hear it more clearly than he ever wanted to; and he had witnessed similar scenes frequently enough that the images flashed before his eyes anyway.

Ezio, his mentore, stripped and kneeling before Cesare Borgia. Cesare would have a handful of his loose dark hair, using it to hold Ezio's head still as he violated his mouth. The henchman Micheletto would be watching, impassive, the point of his sword resting on the back of Ezio's neck. 

Severino's stomach churned at the sounds - Cesare's raw grunts of pleasure, punctuated with occasional mocking laughter as Ezio struggled to breathe. Slick, rhythmic slipping of Cesare's cock in his mouth.

"More," Cesare ordered. "Suck me, Assassino. Your mouth is slacker than a whore's cunt. Suck."

And then, worse still - Cesare's deeper groans as Ezio evidently obeyed. 

"Better. You are improving." More, slick sounds of thrusting. "When you take my seed without gagging, perhaps I will bring your sister to see you. Would you like that?"

Severino's fingernails bit into his palms as a soft slapping noise began, rhythmic, growing louder and faster. He could not shake the image of Cesare's heavy sac slapping against Ezio's face. At this point Cesare would pull Ezio's hair even tighter, forcing himself further down Ezio's throat as his climax began to build.

I will kill you, Cesare Borgia, Severino thought as his fingernails drew blood from his stinging palms. You're a dead man. I'll push my blade down your throat. Just as soon as I get it back... 

He struggled to replace the image of Ezio Auditore's humiliation with one of the Borgia prince choking on sharp steel, blood pouring from his mouth. But it was no use. Cesare's harsh growls of pleasure echoed in the stone chamber as he pumped harder. 

Dead man. Dead man. Dead man.

Cesare gave one last groan of satisfaction, long and low, and his hips bucked in forceful spasms.

A pause as Cesare disentangled himself; then Ezio, kneeling upright, spat on the floor. 

Severino stood up to grip the bars of the cell, heard himself shout uselessly as Cesare backhanded his master across the face, knocking him to the stone floor. 

"Leave him, you cowards," he yelled as Micheletto drove his armoured boot into Ezio's ribs.

But there was nothing he could do. The two men laid into Ezio with boots, fists, the hilts of their weapons. Ezio never made a sound.

Eventually, Ezio lay still. Severino felt hot wetness sliding down his cheeks and realised he was crying himself as Ciro looked up at him with hollow eyes. 

"What are you staring at, _recluta_ ," Severino demanded, and the younger boy turned away. 

"Enough of this," said Cesare in a bored tone. "Come, Micheletto. We have more important matters at hand."

Micheletto dragged Ezio to their cell and thrust him inside before the two men left.

Ezio toppled into the cell and collapsed. He was conscious, but silent, and fended off poor Ciro's attempts to tend to him.

Marcello was still curled on his side; Annetta calm-faced and blank-eyed as ever, as though their own master, the man who had trained them, taught them to fight, was not even there.

To his shame Severino found that he could not meet Ezio's eyes himself, even when he sat up some time later and reached for the jug of dirty water they shared between them. 

It wasn't that Severino no longer respected his master after seeing him dishonored - truly it wasn't. Severino would have followed Ezio to the end of the Earth. A better leader, a better general, he had never known. Nothing Cesare Borgia did to him could change that. But the image of Ezio humiliated was too fresh in his mind. He could not do what he needed to do - to tell Ezio that they were with him, that they were still his Brothers, his men. That they might be prisoners of war, but they were still Assassins. That they would do what Assassins had always done - stand by each other, and fight for freedom. That as long as he breathed, an Assassin was not defeated.

It would have been so simple - but instead, Severino sat in silence, and fumed. He fumed at slumped, lifeless Marcello, at dead-eyed Annetta, and at Ciro, tear-stained and frightened. But most of all, he fumed at himself.


	3. 3

The dungeon at the Castello Sant-Angelo began to fill up around the five captured Assassins. Every day more of their brothers and sisters, beaten and bloodied from questioning but hard-willed as ever, were thrown into the neighbouring cells by jeering Templar soldiers. Severino struggled to piece together any scraps of information he could, but all was chaos. 

Tiber Island was lost, that much was certain, along with most of central Roma. It was thought that La Volpe lived, but his Thieves had abandoned their hideout to disperse underground, their numbers unknown. Bartolomeo d'Alviano rallied his men on the outskirts of Roma, his forces pressed hard by the French. Nothing at all was known of Niccolo Machiavelli. 

Cesare came for Ezio often, to shame the Master Assassin in front of his captured men and women. Sometimes Cesare and Micheletto took Ezio away from the cells for days at a time, for interrogation, presumably; Micheletto would throw the Assassin back in afterwards, dazed with pain and exhaustion. Whatever else they had done to him besides torture Severino did not want to know. Ezio never spoke of it. Nobody spoke of it.

Meanwhile Severino struggled to keep his head, cursing his own uselessness. 

Marcello had started refusing their meagre rations and had had nothing to eat for days, only drinking water when Severino nearly forced it down his throat.

"Are you a fighter, Marcello?" Severino had demanded, seizing his Brother by the front of his shirt. 

"Yes," Marcello said sullenly, trying to shrug him off. "I'm a fighter."

Severino hauled him upright. "Then _fight_." He pushed the jug of water into Marcello's face. He swallowed a few mouthfuls, only to return to his position curled lifelessly on the floor. Ciro watched in silence, his eyes dry. 

Severino sat back with a sigh. The days and nights wore on in the Castello Sant-Angelo, but Severino could no longer tell which was which in the dingy cells. Marcello was growing weaker by the minute. Severino cursed himself over and over. How had they not managed to break out yet? What was wrong with them? What was wrong with _him_? But the cell walls were thick stone, the bars solid iron, and the guards were armed to the teeth, ordered to suppress their every move.

Once, a big bold rat snuck through the bars to sniff among the dirty straw. When it nudged Annetta's boot, she lifted her foot and slammed her heel down to break its back. The rat spasmed, then died. Severino reached to take the dead rat by its tail, intending to throw it out of the cell - but Annetta stopped him with a glare.

"Leave him. He's mine," she said, and Severino shook his head, thumping the side of his fist against the bars with a clang. What could he do? He just hoped she would get rid of it when the stench grew too much to bear. Still, it probably wouldn't smell much worse than this whole place. Severino rubbed his bruised hand and sighed. One of his comrades had given up; another had apparently gone mad. Ciro was just a boy. And Ezio... the horrifying images played out in Severino's mind even when he was gone.

After one a particularly long session of questioning that left Ezio nearly insensible, Cesare's visits stopped completely. It seemed he had left Roma. Ezio did not seem surprised. It was almost as if he had expected it - but then again, Severino had seen no reaction from the _Maestro_ to anything at all since the raid, so that didn't mean much. 

When the guards changed and the next shift began, the Templar men brought wine with them, passing the bottles around between them. Whether they were celebrating something or simply relaxing in Cesare's absence, Severino couldn't tell.

"What of your master's victories," he called to them, hoping to solicit information by tempting them to brag.

Laughter followed his question. "Cesare has captured Firenze," said one guard.

"Horse shit," Severino called back.

"And Venezia!" said another. "And your mother."

More laughter. Severino rolled his eyes. "Where is the Duca now?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, little _Assassino_."

The Templar guards talked and drank among themselves, growing louder all the time. Soon they began to argue - one of the more intelligent ones seemed to think it a bad idea to get roaring drunk among a whole prison full of their enemies. 

"What could happen, Pietro?" "Si, Pietro. Stop complaining," his companions derided. "Shut up and get paid to drink wine. All we have to do is _nothing_. Even you couldn't fuck it up."

"I won't fuck it up," said Pietro, "but you might, you sot. Give me the cell keys, I don't trust you. _Idiota_."

"Ah, go and fuck yourself, Pietro."

So, now they knew who had the keys. For all the good it would do them. Still, Severino made careful note of the man who had told Pietro to fuck himself - a bear of a man, heavyset but flabby, with too much fat under his chin for a man his age. No Assassin would let himself get so slack, Severino thought with contempt. 

"Nothing will happen tonight," said a different guard. "Now, both of you, stop arguing and have a drink."

"You never know," said the flabby guard with a shrug. "Something could happen. Perhaps the Assassino will shit out a son for Cesare."

A wave of raucous laughter broke out among the guards, and bottles clinked together, the argument forgotten. Severino stood up, ignoring his stiff joints and aching bones. His blood felt like liquid fire pulsing in his throat. He could not stand another minute of this. Their Brotherhood was a laughing stock for these _stronzi_. What did the citizens think? Did they hear the rumors and laugh too? 

Hands shaking with his need to tear these men apart, Severino thumped on the bars of the cell. "You piece of shit," he yelled. "Unlock this door and fight me."

He was pulled abruptly down by a hard hand on his elbow. Severino fell back to the cold stone to find Ezio crouching over him.

"You are not asking for a fight," said Ezio, his voice low and calm.

"I _am_ ," Severino said, struggling to sit up.

"No." Ezio held him down firmly. "You are asking for a thrashing."

Reality began to sink in, and Severino subsided.

"Stay down and be silent," Ezio told him. "There is no sense in having more of us injured."

But Severino's belly still burned with rage. The Brotherhood was reduced to a joke, and their master had not spoken a single word to him except to silence him. 

"Then what do we do, Maestro?" he demanded, fists clenched as his fingernails gouged deeper into his bloodied palms. "Since Tiber Island you've done nothing! You've given us no orders at all!" 

Ezio gave him a long look from narrowed amber eyes, and Severino swallowed. Even in here, after all that had happened, that look still had the power to make him freeze inside.

"You want orders, Severino?" Ezio let him go, and leaned back against the cell wall. "Endure." His face was calm, his eyes inscrutable. "And when you have done it, endure some more. Those are my orders."

Clear enough, Severino thought bitterly, if utterly useless. The guards jeered and mocked them through the night. But Severino obeyed, and endured - there was nothing else to do.

Annetta looked up in the early hours. She whispered sharply through the guards' loud voices: "Marcello is dead."

Severino sat up in a panic - it couldn't be true! How had he let it happen? - but in the same instant he saw Marcello's chest rise and fall in a shallow breath. He gave Annetta a disgusted look.

But Ezio glanced at Annetta with a nod, and she broke into a wail. "Oh! By the Virgin - my Brother has gone to God!"

One or two Templar guards looked up, without much interest. 

"Please, I beg you to come and take his body," Annetta sobbed, and was met with more laughter. 

"Good try, _puttana_." "Think of a better ruse."

"Can you not smell the body?" Annetta cried. "May God strike you down for leaving a dead man inside a cell to rot!"

"All I can smell is Assassin scum," replied a guard, spitting half-heartedly in her direction. But Severino saw doubt in the faces of many of the Templar guards. Of course they could smell rot - Annetta's dead rat, stinking in a corner under the straw. Severino looked at her with new respect.

"I don't want to be struck down," muttered one of them, sniffing in distaste, and again the drunken guards began to argue.

"You won't be struck down. Don't be stupid."

"But - a dead man - don't you fear God?" 

"Hah! I fear Cesare Borgia."

"You fear the Assassino. He's in the same cell."

"Our orders are not to open the cells for any reason." 

"Cesare will be angry if he has to tell someone to deal with a dead body..." 

"That smart-mouthed one is in there too. I'd like to teach him a lesson."

"And the girl, eh? What's the sense in a night of wine, without a woman?"

 

Severino's heart began to pound as he realised what was happening. Could they be so stupid? He looked at Ezio, and knew him well enough to sense his reaction. The master Assassin's muscles had tensed almost imperceptibly, and there was a sense of readiness about his eagle's eyes. Severino nudged Ciro awake, silenced him with a gesture. Marcello played his part, lying still as death.

The flabby guard approached the cell, backed by his comrades. Although some were swaying on their feet, all were armed and ready. 

"We will take care of your Brother," he said to Annetta, smiling almost kindly, "and you will spend the rest of the night with us. Sound fair?"

The guard didn't notice the soft growl from Ezio's throat, but Severino did. 

"The rest of you - anyone moves, she dies."

Severino did his best to freeze as the key slid into the lock, and the heavy gate creaked open.

The flabby guard reached for Annetta's hand. She gave it to him willingly. Quick as a whip, her other hand thrust the dead rat in his face. He reeled back from the stinking thing with a shout of confusion, but now Annetta had him by the wrist, and she yanked him forward as she drove the heel of her palm to smash his nose through his skull. 

Ezio shot out of the cell like a striking snake, Severino on his heels. Ezio took the nearest crossbowman before he had worked out what was happening, forcing his weapon up to fire harmlessly against the vaulted walls; a knee to his crotch doubled him over, and an elbow to the back of his neck killed him. Severino threw himself down to avoid fire, rolling between the crossbowmen and flipping to his feet behind them. 

Ezio swept the dead man's dagger from his belt and threw it to Severino, who grinned. A blade had never felt so good in his hand. 

Complete chaos erupted in the dungeon of the Castello Sant-Angelo. Annetta had relieved the flabby - now unconscious - guard of his key. Out of the corner of his vision Severino saw her spin to plunge it into another guard's eye. Unarmed, an Assassin made her own weapons. 

Severino found himself back to back with Ezio. A blade in his hand, his Mentore at his back; even as reinforcing Templar soldiers stormed in, somehow everything felt right. The Assassins spilled out of their opened cells, killing with their hands and feet, or with weapons collected from fallen Templars. Severino's blade flew, and soon his ragged clothes were drenched with Templar blood. 

All of a sudden, the noise of clashing steel subsided. The Assassins had taken the dungeon. For the first time in weeks, a rush of elation flowed through Severino. They still breathed, and they were not defeated. Everything came together in his mind - Ezio's long interrogations, Cesare's sudden absence... Ezio hadn't been doing nothing. He'd spent the past weeks carefully planting every kind of misinformation he could. Planning a raid from the inside on the Castello Sant-Angelo - on Cesare's own stronghold. Severino stared at his master, nearly mad with love and pride.

Ezio looked over his waiting men. "Form up," he said, turning away with a grim smile. He raised his fist, signalling them to battle. "It's time to take revenge."


End file.
